


The Voice in Control

by talesofstories



Category: Fairy Tail
Genre: F/M, Light Angst, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-11
Updated: 2016-08-11
Packaged: 2018-08-08 01:00:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,542
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7736941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/talesofstories/pseuds/talesofstories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The demon E.N.D. is unstoppable and has never been challenged, but dragons always protect their treasure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Voice in Control

The demon that took him over once Zeref cracked open the Book of E.N.D. and read from its pages was swift; separated from his friends fighting one of the few remaining battles in the losing war against the dark wizard, he was gone before he even knew he had a new enemy to defend against. The dark rushed to overtake him and erase any prior version of him. He was and had only ever been E.N.D., greatest of Zeref’s demons.

Zeref ruled the new, dark land. He remained his trusty general, dealing with those difficult and messy problems that an emperor should never dirty his hands with. The destruction he caused fed his demonic soul, and he gloried in the chaos he created, in the terror he inspired. However, putting down the scattered and weakening threats to his master’s rule began to grow boring. A straightforward attack had a certain beauty, but a slow destruction bred a panic and terror he could savor even when recalled to the tedium of Zeref’s side. As months passed and the emperor needed him and his unquestioning support at his right hand less and less, he gave himself his own missions, picking targets from crowds and reveling in their slow destruction.

This was his first time visiting Magnolia. He intended to make it memorable.

* * *

_Mine._

The demon paused. He had thought he was alone in this pink-haired vessel; he _had_ been alone in this pink-haired vessel. Where had this whisper come from?

 _Mine_. The voice made its claim more strongly this time, and the demon paused to consider the golden head he had just picked from the scurrying crowd as his next target. There were more people on the streets now than when Zeref had first claimed power over Ishgar—even with a dark mage as your country’s ruler, you eventually had to leave the scant security of your home to go grocery shopping again—but they moved in hurrying groups from place to place, never stopping and never looking around. A vague knowledge that this hadn’t always been the case, that people used to meander through the market or spend hours in the park he had earlier passed through, stirred in the demon’s mind, but he pushed it away. It made no sense. Why would these pawns think they could have the leisure to walk slowly, the way he did when he crossed rooflines searching for new victims? What gave them the right to enjoy their surroundings?

Besides, this new voice was much more intriguing.

Whispers from the new voice began to spread through the demon. It seemed to start in his chest and send tendrils out to other parts of him: down his scaled arms to clawed hands, across the wings he had tucked to his sides to make him less visible, even up to his ears and nose, attuned to the sound and scent of the blonde, learning their new target. The vague knowledge stirred in him again, telling him he was remembering his new target: nothing about the scent or the way this target moved was new. He suppressed this thought as well, deeming it confusing and useless, focusing instead on the whispers. They prevented him from acting, from reaching out and grabbing his target. They held him still, watching as she threaded through the crowd, allowing him to move only when she began to leave his sight.

_This one is mine. You do not get this one._

Oh? Really? The new voice was making demands?

It sounded old, this new voice. Old and possessive; cantankerous, even. The demon knew that its own voice had a playful madness few of Zeref’s other demons shared, a cunning cruelty bordering on insanity that terrified his underlings. “Manic” he thought the term was. In the rare moments he stopped to ponder it, he decided that this is what made him so effective. He enjoyed wanton destruction. He didn’t need a reason to destroy a town; all he needed was a town to destroy. This vessel was the perfect force of destruction. Until this voice, nothing had ever stopped him.

He had first noticed her for her hair, then for her confident walk. Unlike the other people on the street who all had at least one companion and spent most of their time focusing on the rapid movement of their own two feet, she walked alone and looked around her, hand resting lightly on a pouch on her hip that clinked gently with every step. Even if she was only pretending to be confident, her audacity infuriated him; he knew he would enjoy slowly breaking this one. He had just begun considering all that he ways he could hurt her when the voice had spoken, kept him from acting, and then started moving him without his consent, a puppet on a string that followed in her wake.

They had left the crowds behind as they walked by the river: him hiding in the shadows of rooftops in order to keep the dazzle of the sun off the water away from him, her walking with that confident sway. Pausing in front of a house for a moment, she opened the door with a turn of a key and stepped quickly inside.

He seemed to know without thinking which window to stop at, where to see this golden treasure next.

_You do not get to touch her. She is mine._

The voice only grew louder as she walked back into his line of sight. She had left her bag and jacket in another room and was reaching wearily into a dresser. He noticed with a start that night had fallen; he had first spotted her hours ago. By now he should have grabbed her from the crowd and taken her somewhere to begin punishing her for being alive, for daring to enjoy the world he ruled at Zeref’s side. What was it that was preventing him from acting?

He wanted to snarl back at the voice that it was wrong. That she belonged to him now. That she was his to destroy. His to break. His. Just like every last one had been. All of them belonging to him. He can’t snarl back though. He can’t even think beyond trying to watch more of this creature the other voice is fascinated with.

Holding a bundle of clothes, she walked into another room. He could no longer see her, but he knew if he just reached out with one razor-sharp nail and flipped a catch on the window, he could open it enough to smell her. He could get in and touch her.

Why would he ever want to touch her? Why would he ever want to do something other than rend and destroy?

_Her skin is soft. You do not rake claws against soft skin. You enjoy the feel of it under your hands._

Hands? He doesn’t have hands. He has talons.

_She smells like . . . like . . . Good. She smells good._

How would the other voice know this? He had just started to study her scent today, right? Wait, what did she smell like? Most people smelled like sweat and fear after he met them; women generally smelled of flowers or fruits underneath their fear. She smelled like . . . sunshine? Twilight? Something clean and new yet old and comforting? Something alive yet calming? Is that a fruit?

_She is weird and scary and perfect and should never change. She should never be made to change._

He’s the only scary one. Even Zeref isn’t as scary as he is. And weird? What does that even mean? Where is this voice getting this crap from?

Clothed in soft pajamas, she carried a mug of some steaming liquid—tea, a part of his brain supplied—toward him. He leaned away from the window as she sat on the bed in front of it, pulling a blanket over herself and looking out to the night sky. One part of his brain noted that she looked sad, maybe a bit hopeless; another part was infuriated he wasn’t doing something right now to make her smile. The demon tried to question all this, to regain control, but none of his limbs would listen as the other voice studied her face.

“I miss you,” she whispered to the stars after a long moment. “Every day. I don’t know where you are. I don’t know if I’ll ever see you again, and I miss you so much. I know I should have told you this when I had a chance, but—”

Her voice cracked suddenly, breaking off her thought. The demon’s internal clamor tried to fill the abrupt silence, but the other voice firmly squashed it, desperate to hear what might come next.

“I love you. I can’t see the rest of my life without you, and I miss you so much. Come home? Come home so I can tell you this?”

Her voice trailed off until, with one last glance at the stars and a broken whisper, the other voice finally heard the answer to a question it had never been able to ask: “I love you, Natsu.”

The demon, left dumbfounded in shock, shattered into nothingness as the dragon came roaring back.

  



End file.
